


My Personal Nightmare

by fabricdragon



Series: A Tiger in a Field of Flowers [2]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Big Brother Mycroft, Depression, Gen, Mental Breakdown, Mycroft-centric, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Overwhelmed Mycroft, POV Mycroft Holmes, Rating May Change, Tags May Change, Unhealthy Coping Mechanisms
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-01
Updated: 2018-04-03
Packaged: 2019-04-16 13:27:51
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 5,197
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14165832
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fabricdragon/pseuds/fabricdragon
Summary: Mycroft's POVPoor Mycroft, as if the events in canon aren't bad enough, now he has to deal with the possibility that Moriarty is alive after all!and he's working with incompetent goldfish...This is a companion piece to "A Tiger in a Field of Flowers"  (Story part 1) and AS SUCH will contain spoilers.  i try to  make it clear what  chapters are spoilered in  each chapter of this story, BUT... by definition of seeing "behind the scenes" you are getting information that MAY spoiler some events in the first story even with those warnings.





	1. the no good horrible day

**Author's Note:**

  * For [mickie](https://archiveofourown.org/users/mickie/gifts).



Mycroft had gone in that morning expecting another miserable day at the office; they were usually miserable days, recently. Today, however, was not a miserable day: today was an utterly, appallingly terrible day.

“What a peculiar coincidence,” he said politely into the phone while staring in stomach twisting horror at a surveillance photo. “Naturally, it’s not possible, but thank you for bringing it to my attention–it will have to be looked into: policy, of course.”

“Of course, Mycroft,” his contact over in the CIA cheerfully scraped his atrocious accent across Mycroft’s ears and directly into his oncoming migraine. “I know you had a request out for anything, and… well… they do say everyone has a double, right?”

“Very likely that is, in fact, the answer.” _A body double? Moriarty would have been very likely to make use of one–possibly create one…_ A chill crept up Mycroft’s spine. “Oh dear,” he lied smoothly. “I have to take that call, do excuse me.”

“Of course! Business first!”

Mycroft disconnected the call and resumed staring at the report and photo.

_The man looked a lot like Moriarty, but… there had to be people who looked a lot like him just by happenstance, right? He was a man of average height, with dark brown hair and dark eyes… and a high forehead…_

_But Moriarty would have UTTERLY no reason to be anywhere near the University of Wisconsin–Wisconsin, for God’s sakes!–and no one had heard from him in… well, since his death. Even the recordings were clearly made before his death; after all, once they were analyzed, he had clearly not aged past his last appearance._

_But what if…_

Mycroft carefully measured out a mild mood leveler. His anxiety had been troubling him a bit since recent incidents with his family… Honestly, the more things went on, the more he began to think it was time to retire.

_But Moriarty?_

_IF he was alive, he was a threat to… everything–everyone… especially Sherlock. Sherlock was so fragile now… and even less willing to trust my help…_

_Well, there was a simple solution to it all._ He called up the complete report on Moriarty’s death and read it over.

_Face destroyed by the close range gunshot, but fingerprints verified. He’d been autopsied, of course–he’d had evidence of a few strokes and a heart attack, according to the test results–probably explaining his increasingly erratic behavior._

His phone rang on a priority. Mycroft sighed and picked it up, “Yes, Elizabeth?”

“I thought you promised that you were going to stay away from–”

“I received a report from the CIA about a sighting of someone identified as Moriarty. I was simply performing due diligence.”

He could hear her frown, “Well, he’s dead and gone for years now, Mycroft.”

“Hmm? Oh, yes…” Mycroft felt like things were scratching at the back of his mind, like nails clawing at a windowpane, scratching his brother’s name on the glass over and over… “Why… didn’t Sherlock say his face was destroyed?”

“His face wasn’t destroyed entirely,” Elizabeth snorted, “just damaged badly. I oversaw the autopsy, if you recall.”

“Yes…”

“Mycroft! He’s DEAD.”

Mycroft looked thoughtfully at the autopsy. He slowly focused his eyes on the fingerprint records: _That wasn’t right…_

Elizabeth was talking into the phone and he hung up. _Those prints were wrong._ He walked through his mind palace to the files labeled  Moriarty and pulled out his fingerprint card.

_Images of Moriarty smiling up at him through the one way glass, as though he could see him, cooperating with the fingerprinting… and then suddenly pressing his inked thumb onto one of the guard’s foreheads._

He looked at the card in his mind palace… _the whorls and ridges, the scars across the fingertips on his left hand…_ He looked at the card in the computer files–supposedly the same card: _No scars._

_Moriarty had replaced the fingerprint card, to match the man we had dead on the roof… who wasn’t Moriarty._

He sat back in his chair and considered. _My fellows in the SIS would likely discount my memory–they didn’t understand how I could remember things–and this? This would be discounted immediately as ‘Personal bias’, and ‘Are you seeing a therapist, Mycroft?’, and ‘After all the recent trauma, perhaps you should retire…’_

_Retire to what?_

He considered the file carefully and then he pulled up the debriefing his brother had finally gotten around to doing once he got back to London. _There…_ His description of Moriarty was “lying there peacefully as if he was going to leap up and yell ‘April Fools’… if you discounted the blood and brain matter in a pool behind his head.”

 _Laying there peacefully… the only apparent injury being to the BACK of his head…_ Mycroft nodded and sent the report, with that highlighted, to Lady Smallwood.

It took over an hour for her to call him. “Antarctica… I apologize. While it is not conclusive, it does lead to a doubt.”

“I find small discrepancies in other areas as well, but that one… Well, as you said, Love, his face was severely damaged… except it wasn’t.” Mycroft kept his voice level and calm, “I believe his fingerprint records have been tampered with as well. The simple solution is to send a proper investigation team to look into it while we go over the documentation here.”

“I would rather expect the simplest solution would be to send our information to the Americans–”

“THOSE incompetents?” Mycroft snorted. “Would you trust any conclusions they reached?”

“…No,” she admitted, “but I fail to see how we could conclusively identify him in any case, if, as you say, his records have been tampered with.”

Mycroft had to concede that was a problem. “Put together an investigative team, Love; I will work on finding a way to conclusively identify Moriarty.”

He went home and lay in bed with a cloth over his eyes. He was developing an appalling tolerance to most of the medications…

_Medications…_

_They hadn’t been able to use the best choices for chemical interrogation on Moriarty because of his allergies: he’d gone down with anaphylaxis as soon as they’d injected him…_

Mycroft picked up the phone without opening his eyes and called Lady Smallwood. “Elizabeth? I think I’ve found one way to distinguish Moriarty from a lookalike…”


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which there are leaks, and fears, and an unexpected Colonel...  
> MEA CULPE: i had the wrong name listed in a few spots-it is now fixed.

“May I say, it has been quite some time since we were all gathered.” Mycroft nodded at John Garvie, “And welcome back, Equinox.”

John adjusted his nondescript tie and tugged his cuffs into place; he’d developed a number of odd habits during his incarceration. “A pleasure,” he said quietly. Mycroft was concerned that he was not yet up to his duties, but, given the general opinion of his own status, he was in no position to complain.

Porlock cleared his throat. “Indeed, I am sorry that the discovery of a traitor in our midst made room for your return, Equinox, but–”

Crescent–as hard to read as ever–interrupted, “We have all seen the evidence. While I have not changed my mind about Antarctica’s fitness for duty, I have no question about his conclusion in this case: Moriarty survived the ‘suicide’; it remains to be seen by how long he survived.”

Mycroft nodded slowly, “The person of interest MAY be Moriarty, or may have a coincidental resemblance, or may have a deliberate resemblance: if we suspect one body double–in the morgue–who is to say there were not more?”

Elizabeth–Lady Smallwood–raised an eyebrow, “You do not believe this to be him?”

“I do not rule either option out as of yet, Love,” Mycroft said firmly. “However, I find it somewhat difficult to picture Moriarty in Wisconsin.” He shrugged. “Perhaps a failing on my part, but it doesn’t seem to suit his style?”

Several people nodded. “It is hard to picture,” murmured Equinox.

They discussed options and eventually tasked Porlock, as head of MI6, to select someone lethal–but expendable–for a reconnaissance and possible assassination mission.

“We need someone who can be discreet, but also someone who can be disavowed if they fail in discretion.” Love looked thoughtfully at Porlock. “Do you have someone?”

Porlock nodded, “As it happens, I have exactly the right man for the job. He was dishonorably discharged from the military but, given the unusual circumstances, we recruited him to MI6. He’s a top rated sniper, fully trained SAS man, and the most recent psychological assessments consider him a borderline sociopath.”

Crescent spoke up sharply, “Why are you recruiting someone like that?”

“There were reasons,” he shrugged, “but in any event, he is widely disliked within MI6, AND he is a relative of Lord Moran–the perfect scapegoat if needed.”

Love nodded, “But likewise in need of proving himself, and a capable killer… Yes, ideal.”

“That… does not sound ideal to me,” Mycroft said cautiously. “We need to remain on good terms with the Americans…”

“He had a great deal of experience cleaning up evidence for us in the military,” Porlock stated firmly. “He’s quite capable.”

After a brief discussion of other matters, the meeting broke up. Mycroft asked John if he would care to get a cup of tea. Elizabeth urged him to accept: no one would make anything of it, they had been friends before, and Elizabeth had been trying to socialize with Mycroft after her mourning period–Mycroft didn’t know how to break it to her that he wasn’t interested in more than friendship.

Once they were safely in Mycroft’s office and he’d swept for bugs, Mycroft looked at John, “Equinox, are you certain you are up to this?”

He raised an eyebrow, “Still using codes? So this is a business meeting then?”

“Sadly, yes,” Love sighed.

Mycroft poured everyone a cup of tea; he longed for a scotch, but wouldn’t drink in front of John. “We believed that Moriarty had information sources deep without our security,” he began, “and that has been an ongoing concern, but it becomes critical once again if he is, in fact, alive.”

“So we three?” Equinox asked after a pause.

“My own assistant was a traitor, but not to Moriarty as far as we know.” Love sighed, “We cannot trust anyone, really. We are taking a chance on you.”

“I’m not certain how much help I can be…?” He nodded, “But I can try.”

“We need to find some agents that no one outside of the three of us would know about and send them on ahead–they will be following the agent Porlock chose.” Love said firmly, “Even if information about Porlock’s agent leaks–”

Equinox nodded briefly, “Ah… I see: a combination of bait and beating the bushes. You need the actual hunters to follow after and see what they lure out.”

“Exactly,” Mycroft nodded. “We three will give the briefing to Porlock’s agent and ensure that he gets no more information than absolutely necessary.”

“I hope you do realize that it will be very difficult to actually drag an unwilling person back to England? We will need some method of dealing with the situation in place.”

Love smiled, “As it happens, Antarctica has the solution to that: our hunters will take some of the interrogation drugs that Moriarty is allergic to. If it is NOT Moriarty, they can interrogate him and find out what he knows–if it is?”

Equinox actually smiled. “Oh, that’s elegant.”

“I regret the necessity of losing such a valuable source of information–if it is Moriarty–but we all know he is far too dangerous to try to transport in any case.” Mycroft tried to keep his voice steady, but his heart rate was already elevated and he felt a bit lightheaded. _The idea of Moriarty alive and still a threat…_

Love nodded firmly, “Oh, it’s quite impossible. If only it wasn’t in America it would be much simpler, but we must deal in facts.”

Mycroft nodded slowly, “Love, as you know I have strong personal bias here: I will ask you to select the two agents and brief them.”

She looked concerned and reached out to touch his hand; he let her. “We can double surveillance on your brother.”

“He would notice,” Mycroft shook his head. “Simply upgrade surveillance at a remove, but have response teams on standby in the event of a problem.”

…

He went back to work; he went home; he went back to work; and he spent all of his spare time trying to increase security on his brother without alerting him. Three days later they were meeting with Sebastian Moran–formerly Colonel Moran…

…and from the moment the man entered the room, Mycroft knew it was going to be a disaster.

Sir Edwyn had clearly chosen the wrong person. Mycroft had been expecting someone who fit the mold of deadly and troublesome, but not smart–this man had evident intelligence and suspicion in his eyes. He swept the room in a casual fashion, but Mycroft could tell he was filing away facts at a frightening rate–they would have to limit what they told him even more.

“Colonel,” Love began politely. “You come highly recommended.”

“I would hope so, Ma’am,” Moran nodded. “If possible, I would prefer to get to the mission briefing without small talk.”

 _Oh, no… No, this was the wrong person. This man was dangerous and EFFICIENT, not dangerous and erratic!_ Mycroft cleared his throat. “You are familiar with the nature of security clearances from your work for MI6. Let me simply state clearly that this is need-to-know, and the ONLY person outside of this room that is cleared for any of it would be the head of MI6 himself–and that only if absolutely needed–is that clear?”

“Yes, sir, Mister…?”

“We are known only by our code names, Colonel,”–Mycroft found himself giving him the honorific of his military title–“and rarely that. Please sit down.” _What the hell was MI6 doing throwing this man away? How had he been discharged?_ Mycroft slid the folder to him. “That is your mission.”

The Colonel looked over the file, first quietly and intensely, and then in increasing confusion. The first thing he asked was obvious, but expected: “So he really was Jim Moriarty? Not Richard Brook?”

“Richard Brook was simply a dig at ‘Reichenbach’–the case that made Sherlock Holmes famous,” Mycroft explained. “We believed he had shot himself on the roof until the report of his being seen…”

The Colonel interrupted him– _he was both extremely self-assured and not at all concerned about hierarchy, undoubtedly why he was NOT getting along as a new recruit at MI6_ –“According to this, there was no autopsy.”

“His death was witnessed.” Mycroft hesitated. They couldn’t admit to finding out the discrepancy in the fingerprints, but he’d seized on the fundamental missing data. “I was busy with other matters, and the people who handled it did not verify that the body retrieved from the roof was him. He was cremated quickly and the only verification was a visual identification of a body with a ruined face from a gunshot. It was not until later that Sherlock Holmes informed us that the man he had seen shoot himself had NO damage to the front of his face.” _There, that was their story, more or less…_

“Ah.” Luckily, the Colonel accepted that and moved on. “Do you want me to kill him, or retrieve him?”

Equinox went smoothly back to the needed orders. “It would be preferred if it could be verified that he is, in fact, Jim Moriarty.”

“Retrieve him, right,” He glanced down at the file. “Nothing in this file indicates personal combat skills.”

“To the best of our knowledge,” Love answered crisply and professionally, “he had none.” _That, at least, was true–Moriarty used hired hands for that._

“Then it should be simple enough,” the Colonel said, frowning back down at the file again, undoubtedly wondering why he was chosen for this mission.

Mycroft felt guilty at that. _He should at least be warned…_ “Colonel… he is highly intelligent and extremely difficult to predict: do not take him lightly.”

Moran nodded. “It will, of course, be more difficult to capture him alive than to simply shoot him. Do I have authorization to kill him if capture becomes difficult?”

Mycroft barely restrained himself from telling him to shoot him FIRST, but Equinox calmly answered, “I would prefer not.”

Love tapped her pen: _Focus, Mycroft_. “Difficult? No. You shall kill him as a last resort only.”

“How much time do I have?” _He asked sensible questions–after this mission, if he survives, I want to recruit him._

“We are concerned with what he has been up to during the time no one knew to watch him. We would prefer he was retrieved with some priority. In addition…” He considered the competence of the man, and the obvious hair trigger, and decided to give him a bit more information. “It has always seemed as though he has inside information–perhaps a mole; for that reason, the knowledge that he has been seen has been kept extremely close.” _There, that should also keep him from wondering why a larger group wasn’t being sent._

Love frowned at him but picked it up smoothly, “The longer you take, the more risk there is that he would become aware of this.”

He asked another very relevant question: “What if this ISN’T him? The identification was tenuous.”

They all looked at each other: in truth, it was unlikely the man could be permitted to live in any case, and that decision would be made by the actual hunters; finally, Equinox said, “If you can determine that–if you are certain–and he hasn’t seen too much, then simply report back; otherwise, he will have to be removed for security.”

Mycroft saw a moment’s unease, quickly pushed aside. “Yes, sir, I understand.” _Politely following orders even if he disliked them?_ _This made no sense… I have to see his file._

“With the added complication that we technically do not have the authority to do ANY of this on American soil,” Love commented.

He shrugged, unconcerned. _Very certain he could cover it up if needed… Hmmm…_

At the end, they handed him his cover identity: he took one look at it and laughed out loud, “American? I might be able to get rid of my accent with some time, but…”

“Americans don’t recognize accents–” Love tried to say.

“No. It’s ridiculous.”

 _And it WAS ridiculous, but it had been prepared for what they had been TOLD he was, someone who couldn’t follow rules, was erratic and unreliable and not very bright_. Mycroft cut in, “I believe we had expected a different person when we prepared this. We will get an English cover identity for you while you are equipped.”

The Colonel looked a bit surprised at him and nodded slowly, the first overt sign of respect he’d shown.

Once he was shown out, Elizabeth turned to him, “What was THAT about Mycroft? We agreed…”

“That man is NOTHING like we expected, Elizabeth,” Mycroft said quietly.

“No, he isn’t,” John nodded. “Much smarter than I expected, and… honestly, much worse insubordination.”

Elizabeth frowned, “He certainly questioned orders, but… insubordination?”

Mycroft smiled, “He was willing to interrupt any of us–usually only my brother does that.” _Except he was highly disciplined, and didn’t just interrupt for the sake of being rude._

“The very definition of insubordination, then,” she smiled.

“I rather approve of him,” Mycroft said thoughtfully. “If he survives this I want to hire him.”

John looked a bit surprised. “Oh?”

“He’s far more competent than I was led to expect. See if you can get Porlock to get me his un-redacted file?”

They went to go on about their business, Mycroft determining to keep as much of an eye on this as he could, given the situation overseas…

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> since some people may not be familiar with the personnel:  
> Love: Lady Elizabeth Smallwood (AKA Pearl Lady)  
> Antarctica : Mycroft Holmes (AKA Prissy Vest Man)  
> Equinox: John Garvie (Aka Bland Man) returned to his position after a disgrace: http://finalproblem.tumblr.com/post/149185229925/the-voice-of-terror (I am NOT using all of their surmises, but the framework is accurate)
> 
> Porlock: Sir Edwyn see also http://finalproblem.tumblr.com/post/155463769875/four-codenames-antarctica-langdale-porlock-and (I am NOT using all of their surmises, but the framework is accurate)
> 
> Crescent: Lord Harrison Montrose (Military background) is my own character.  
> Langdon WAS Norbury… deceased


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mycroft hears exactly how badly its all gone wrong...  
> TW: depression and breakdown

Unfortunately, several political situations in Mycroft’s sphere promptly went to hell. He slept in his office or his club, unable to even manage the trip home, for several days. The curse of dealing across multiple time zones was that he had to handle meetings when he would far rather be sleeping; perhaps that was why it seemed as though he looked up and found that almost a week had gone by since they had briefed Colonel Moran. He sent the Colonel a polite reminder to keep his wits about him and requested his file from Porlock again.

Naturally, that very night, well early morning perhaps, John Garvie–Equinox–sent him a coded alert: “Moran has made contact with our possible Moriarty. The agents are moving into action, are you up to taking over monitoring?”

“Certainly,” Mycroft replied. “I have to be in the office to deal with the trade negotiations in any case.”

It wasn’t until John had gone off-line that Mycroft realized several very important facts: he still hadn’t gotten Colonel Moran’s un-redacted file; he had no idea what monitoring they had in Madison Wisconsin–if any; and he had no idea which agents Elizabeth had sent. He began running through the mission notes quickly; luckily, Elizabeth was very thorough about mission notes.

After he’d gone through the mission notes, he took a mood leveler and got out his Scotch. _This was utterly horrible: they had NO ONE watching hospitals in or near Madison–so if he got dosed but escaped they were likely to lose him; Elizabeth and John had apparently been pressuring the Colonel by way of encouraging leaks–and with his rather evident anger issues that was likely to be a problem; and the agents Elizabeth had chosen?_

Mycroft put his head in his hands. _Well, Rupert was a competent agent; I can only hope that Lila doesn’t cause more trouble than she solves._ Mycroft knew that Elizabeth wouldn’t see the problem, but Lila had been pulled from MI6 to their secret service because she was a competent agent who had been sexually harassed and routinely passed over for promotions in favor of male agents: she was likely to be hostile in the extreme to a maverick, dishonorably discharged, novice male agent.

 _If I’m lucky, they won’t even interact,_ Mycroft thought to himself hopefully as he typed up what he hoped was a polite rebuke to Love on her choice of agents.

…

After the trade meeting–one of several he had to attend by video conference–Mycroft realized he hadn’t gotten any contact from Wisconsin. He checked several contact methods… nothing.

The last contact from the Colonel had been an extremely terse response to the regular contact drop on the realities of finding one man in the city–while not damaging any civilians or drawing attention to himself. _Of course: they’ve been pressuring him. That was before the contact from the two agents saying Moran had somehow found their Moriarty lookalike…_

Mycroft looked at the notes: _Last seen walking with the target into a flower shop? A closed flower shop… with very few observers and–ah, no wonder they chose to act once he didn’t come out…_

 _Wait… why was Moran in a closed flower shop with the target for over an hour?_ Mycroft looked at the time: the two agents should have checked in–at least briefly–hours ago by now.

He apparently fell asleep at his desk, because he was woken by a notification that he had an emergency contact call from Addison.

 _What on earth could Addison need from him? It was a simple courier assignment…_ “What seems to be the problem?”

“What doesn’t?” Colonel Sebastian Moran’s voice snarled into the phone. “The entire mission went to hell and I’m covering it up as best as I can, but it’s a mess.”

 _Oh… not From Addison–from Madison:Wisconsin._ Whatever had happened, Colonel Moran was utterly furious, and a good bit of that venom was aimed at him personally. Mycroft kept his voice calm and level. “Explain.”

“I found someone who looked like Moriarty–or he found me, not sure which–and was evaluating him. Everything was going PEACHY until two people broke in. One of them had a gun drawn, so James–your Moriarty clone–pulled a gun and shot him, I had no idea what was going on–”

 _No… Oh, no…_ Mycroft flinched.

Colonel Moran went on, clearly keeping his voice down with effort: “James went for an alarm console and I figured that no matter WHAT was going on that was bad, so I tackled him and tried to get us both under cover,” his attempted calm voice broke and he snarled with genuine hatred in his voice, “at which point the other intruder yelled my name and identified herself as MI6.”

 _Nonononono…_ Mycroft’s hand began to shake holding the phone. “That… is not how anything was supposed to happen.”

“Yeah? Well, I had to disarm James… and imagine how entirely OVERJOYED I was to find out that my mission was being shot to hell because I’d been LIED to!”

“It… is more complex than that, Colonel,” he winced. _Although that was, in fact, the main problem._ “Please tell me the current situation?”

“Both your MI6 agents are dead, and so is James.”

Mycroft had already been getting out his pills, now he nearly dropped them. “I see… How did we get from them identifying themselves to…?”

“James turned out to be either a damn good shot or lucky–or maybe he was unlucky–because the male agent died. The female agent–Lila?–got out some kind of shot and dosed James–she was snarling at James AND ME, and said it was a test of some kind–and told me to go piss off and stand guard.” His voice rose angrily. “And I am DAMN tired of being treated like trash by the agency.”

“Yes, I’m certain,” Mycroft said very quietly. _You were all wrong, and I should have stood by my convictions then, but I wasn’t certain enough of my authority._ “Then?”

“James was babbling–all I got was something about a body double for Moriarty… and the agent told me to check the perimeter… and while I was checking the perimeter–LIKE she told me to–he must have gotten loose. I came back in to find the woman dead–throat cut, blood every damn place–and James wandering around babbling and crying about how he thought he’d gotten away from all this and he just wanted to retire.

“Since he OBVIOUSLY knew too much at this point–and I already had two bodies to clean up–I killed him. Before you say ONE damn word about retrieval I will point out that NONE of my mission involved covering up an armed attack by two OBVIOUS MI6 agents. Even their damn outfits were all standard issue! English boots? Really?”

“I see… No, definitely not how it was supposed to play out,” Mycroft said. _She’d undoubtedly underestimated Moriarty–or his double–and been furious at the loss of her partner… and then dealing with Moran. They’d been idiots: idiots to send Moran in this way, and idiots to send that agent._ Mycroft forced himself to think practically. “Will you be able to cover this up?”

“I THINK so? I should at least be able to buy us time and confusion. I have the bodies stashed someplace cold–”

Mycroft could picture it. “The flower case? Won’t that be noticed?”

“How the hell do you know that?!” Sebastian’s startlement over rode his anger for a moment.

Mycroft tried to explain, “The agents were reporting in on your whereabouts; it was supposed to be at least partially for your safety–I did warn you that the real Moriarty was very dangerous–and reported that you had encountered what appeared to be Moriarty, and walked into a flower shop.”

“James was the manager.” Sebastian’s voice was terse. “I was looking around and chatting him up to try to verify his identity; he was showing off the place. One of the flower case fridges in the basement was more like a restaurant walk-in fridge–heavy sealed door that can lock. I stashed the bodies in there and cleaned up, but the rest of the shop staff will be in all day. I won’t be able to get back there until after dark.”

 _He was gay? The Colonel hadn’t read as gay in the meeting, but that was business; still, I should have noticed… no… he was bisexual, then._ Mycroft pictured it: _Sebastian Moran meeting the man–clearly being at least somewhat attracted to him–and ‘verifying his identity’ would rapidly become a temptation to do more. If this James was anything at all like the real Moriarty, he…_ Mycroft suddenly brought himself back to the important question. “Before… Before you had to kill the target… was he showing any signs of an allergic attack?”

“What?”

“Was he having any trouble breathing? Hives? Throat swelling shut?”

Mycroft could practically feel the hatred and disdain pouring out of the phone. “No… Well, only from crying–he was crying a lot? Babbling about getting away from it all.”

 _Not him… So we still don’t have any answers, and we’ve lost two–possibly three–agents._ “Then it was not Moriarty, which leaves us in the same position of not knowing if Moriarty is actually dead.”

“Because… of what he was babbling?” Moran was clearly exhausted as well as confused, of course.

“Moriarty was lethally allergic to that interrogation drug–it is the only absolute test for identity anyone could come up with.”

“Whatever,” he said with disinterest, and then his voice firmed again. “I quit. You have my notice–” Mycroft tried to speak but the Colonel just spoke over him, “I’m going to finish my damn job, cover up your mess for you just like I did in the military, and deal with this garbage. I will be reporting back in when I’m done AND I cool off. And I am ALSO making sure I hand off a drop dead account with some friends in case you decide to clean ME up too.” And he slammed the phone down.

Mycroft slowly put the phone down.

_‘James’ had been a body double for Moriarty, and might have had valuable information–lost. Both of their agents were dead–Rupert was a devastating loss, and even Lila was a competent agent if well managed. Colonel Sebastian Moran–promising recruit with an obviously incomplete file–was trying to quit and his introduction to the special agency had been devastatingly mis-handled. All of that for nothing…_

Mycroft slowly put his head down and scrubbed at his face and eyes. After he pulled himself together, he wrote a detailed and unvarnished account to Love and Equinox, and informed them that they would have to handle the report to the others because he was taking a week off–effective immediately.

He had himself driven to his home–he hadn’t been here for more than a few hours at a time in two weeks–locked the doors, shuttered the windows, turned off his phones and his computer, took a sedative and a glass of Scotch to bed, and tried to pretend that he wanted to wake up in the morning.


End file.
